Seven Stages
by poisongirll
Summary: Dean is working his way through the seven stages of grief, with a little help from our favorite angel.


**Chapter One**

First comes shock and disbelief. Dean tries to tell himself that Sammy is really gone, that his little brother is not going to walk through the door of one of their decrepit motel rooms bearing a bag of fast food and a case of beer. But somehow he just can't bring himself to believe it. For the past week, since Sammy threw himself into the pit of hell, Dean has been going through the motions. He's still hunting demons, because he knows nothing else anymore, and he can't imagine his life any other way. He tries to stop himself from reflecting on his memories of when he and Sam did this together, and wonders why he couldn't have just simply relished those simple times when all that mattered in the world was each other and kicking evil's ass.

**Pain and Guilt**

He's checked into another seedy motel, and drunk himself into oblivion once again…even though he feels that there is nothing but an empty space inside of him, he now feels that that big empty black hole is eating away, ever increasing in size, until it will consume him entirely. The alcohol seems to slow the consuming nature of it, even if it's only for a few hours. He has not cried. He knows that he should, that it's natural and healing, but he can't bring himself to face the pathetic image of himself alone, crying, alone, in a lonely motel room, drunk and alone, alone, alone.

It is around the point of having a quarter of his bottle of jack left that he begins to feel the pain creeping in. It begins with a slight but persistent gnawing around the edges of the big black hole inside him, and gradually moves in on him. Dean feels somewhere within the recesses of his damaged soul that this is most likely a good sign, a sign that he is beginning to accept the fate of his beloved brother, but the agonising gnawing renders him incapable of seeing any good in the world or in his own situation. In time he finishes the bottle, and gravity forces his head to the pillow of the motel bed, but he finds that the persistent, consuming pain is still with him. He feels more alone than he has ever felt in his life because no matter what, Sammy had always been there for him. Not for the first time this week his mind wonders to one of the many guns in the trunk of the Impala, wishing that he could simply end it all. Nothing matters anymore, and no one cares.

His semi delirious thoughts are suddenly broken when he hears a strange yet familiar ruffling, something like a million birds taking flight all at once. He looks up through his alcoholic haze and wonders if he is dreaming the figure standing before him. Castiel.

"Cas?" Dean questions blearily.

"Hello Dean" Castiel replies, his gravelly tone igniting a strange comfort somewhere deep within Dean.

Dean forces himself upright. To his addled mind it seems an eternity since he last saw the angel, though it has only been a week. The day of Sam's death, Dean remembers. He shakes his head to clear the image of his little brother hurling himself into that pit, and tries to focus on the figure before him.

"What're you doing here? Thoughtchu were in heaven" Dean replies, his words failing him more than slightly as he staggers to his feet. "Lemme guess, you found it a disappointment too?" he continues, approaching the angel and reaching out to make sure that he is more than a mere illusion.

Castiel catches Dean's wrist as his arm reaches for him.

"Actually, I was concerned about you" he replies, in his ever serious tone that doesn't convey the least bit of concern, though Dean knows, from the same deep place that took comfort in Cas's voice, that it is there.

"I…I'm fine" Dean lies, looking Castiel straight in the eye, but finding that he cannot long hold the angel's piercing blue stare. The stare that makes in incredibly hard to lie through your teeth, because you know that the angel can read you like a book. He lowers his head and starts to wobble slightly.

"Dean…" Castiel catches him, placing a strong, steadying hand on Dean's shoulder.

"What're you doin' here anyway?" asks Dean, repeating his earlier question. "And how did you find me?"

"I…I had the angel's marks removed. I didn't like the idea of not being able to find you" Castiel replies, his tone as neutral as ever but with an edge of one admitting shame, that Dean would most likely have picked up on in his normal state.

"I wanted to see if you were okay" he continues cautiously, after a pause.

Dean lets a burst of harsh laughter escape him, one that contains no trace of humor, before replying "Okay? Yeah, I'm just fucking peachy".

Castiel pauses another moment, having been reminded once again that Dean and Sam Winchester have taught him so much about humanity, and in this case, about the notion of sarcasm.

"I understand that you are not okay. Why would you be?" he answers quietly, not entirely sure of what he should be saying and doing.

"You understand?" Dean questions, some of the focus coming back in to his eyes. "How the hell can you understand? You're an angel, you don't feel anything or have any idea what's going on in my head!"

Castiel keeps his eyes averted, still not sure what to say.

"I'm beginning to think that we can feel" he replies, his voice still quiet, head still lowered.

Dean seems to be unable to accept this response, and allows himself to fall to the bed once again. "Just…don't. Okay, Cas?"

Castiel hesitates a moment, before asking "Do you want me to go, Dean?"

"No. Don't go"

A pause.

"Stay." Dean falters once more, his form half hidden from view in the dark recesses of the room.

"Please stay with me, Cas" he continues in a voice that exposes so much vulnerability that Castiel can almost feel his own heart breaking.

Hesitantly, Castiel approaches the bed and sits on the chair beside it.

"I'm not going anywhere" Castiel says softly. "I'll be with you for as long as you need me"

Dean is already slipping into unconsciousness, but he reaches for Castiel with a desperation that the angel has never seem in him before.

"Cas, I…." Dean begins, but finds himself incapable of finishing the thought.

Castiel only needs to look into Dean's eyes to read everything that he is going through. Whilst it may be true that he cannot fully understand human emotions, Castiel is an expert at recognising them for what they are. In Dean's emerald green orbs, however tainted with the effects of booze they may be, he sees the big empty hole inside and the gnawing that he knows will only get worse for the older Winchester brother.

"I can help you" Castiel says suddenly, his desire to take that pain away becoming almost too much to bear.

Dean turns away, breaking the eye contact. "No one can help me. Not now" he replies in a flat tone void of emotion.

"I can…help heal you" Dean looks up again, unable to stop himself from being curious, despite his cynicism.

"How?" Castiel moves towards the bed that Dean lies on, seating himself on the edge.

"Dude, how many times do we have to talk about personal space?" Dean exclaims, moving slightly away from the angel.

"Shut up, Dean"

Castiel leans over Dean so that he is persuaded to lie on his back, and gently lifts Dean's old faded shirt. "Cas what the hell?"

Dean scrambles to get away but his speed is impeded by the volume of liquor he has consumed, so before he can do anything about it Castiel has placed his hand just over Dean's heart and Dean begins to feel a spreading warmth that is entirely different to the feeling of the Jack Daniel's snaking through his veins. For a moment he looks confused and almost scared but the beautiful, healing touch of Castiel's right hand is coursing through his body and soul before he can even begin to care. Dean finds himself unable to speak for several moments and when he finally does his voice comes out softer, more human, than he has come to know it in a long time.

"How…how are you doing that?" "How does it feel?" Castiel asks, his voice still strong, but more gentle than Dean has ever heard it.

"It feels…" Dean pauses, coming to his senses enough to feel embarrassed that he is lying on a motel bed, drunk and partially naked, with an angel leaning over him pressing his hand to his chest.

"…nice" he finishes lamely.

But if he will allow himself to admit it, Dean knows that it feel a lot more than 'nice'. It is the first time he has felt something within himself that is not empty or terrifying in a long time. In fact, he somehow feels…complete, almost happy, even. And with that feeling in mind he allows himself to slip into a restful, dreamless slumber.


End file.
